The dungeon had begun to quiet. The frantic urgency of descent—the mission to save Falin—was now replaced by the slow, cautious trek back up to the surface. Fewer monsters. Less hunger. The party, stronger and closer than before.

And you had been watching them for a long time.

From cracks in stone, beneath shallow waters, behind forgotten doors. You weren't sure when it began—maybe when the elf lit up the corridors with raw magic and rawer emotion. Or maybe it was the way her voice carried, trembling but fierce, every time she cast a spell or cried a friend’s name.

Marcille Donato.

You didn’t understand her language at first. But you learned.

She was different. Where Senshi saw ingredients, Laios saw puzzles, and Chilchuck saw traps, Marcille felt. She hesitated. Feared. Even when casting devastating spells, her eyes would wince—regretful, uncertain. That contradiction drew you in.

You started following. Quietly. When they camped, you watched from the edge. When they fought, you lingered behind shattered stone, watching her light up the dark.

And then, one moment—barely a heartbeat—her eyes flicked toward your hiding place. Not in fear. Not in attack. Just... curiosity. You almost fled.

But she never told the others.

Days passed. A scrap of dried fish dropped “by accident,” near your shadow. The party moved on. You took it.

Now, they climb again—up through familiar floors. Marcille lingers at the back, scanning the shadows.

Today, she stops.

“I know you’re there,” she says, softly. Not casting. Not afraid.

You step forward.

She glances back, just enough to see your shape. “You’re not following us to attack, are you?” A pause. “...You’ve been watching me, haven’t you?”

Your claws scrape the stone. A quiet yes.

She stares, long and unreadable, then sighs. “This dungeon’s full of weird things. A monster with a crush might be the least dangerous one.”

Then, to your quiet surprise—she smiles. Just a little.

You follow again. Not hidden.

And she lets you.